


A Different Buzz

by Karbon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock, Coming Untouched, Crying During Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Sherlock is a Brat, Sorta...he's trying bless him, Spanking, Top John, this is simultaneously the fluffiest and filthiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karbon/pseuds/Karbon
Summary: John has to go to a medical conference for a weekend, leaving Sherlock at home, bored and wishing he'd gone with him. They haven't been together very long, and he's still feeling insecure about their relationship. When John finally comes home after three (3!) long, miserable days, Sherlock is eager to show John how much he missed him. And how good he can be.





	A Different Buzz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).



> This is my FTH auction fill for Red, who requested Top John/Brat Sherlock. Hopefully this is at least close to what they wanted. It, uh, turned out a lot softer and fluffier than I intended. I guess I'm just a sucker for feels during sex... Sherlock is still working up the confidence to fully embrace his bratty-ness.
> 
> Also, I finished this in the midst of preparing for finals and only had time for a cursory edit. If you guys spot anything or have concrit for me, let me know!
> 
> Oh, and the title is from my favorite Sherlock-feels song, High Enough by K.Flay

Two days, ten hours, and twenty-five…twenty six minutes. Almost three days, really, that Sherlock had been forced to endure an empty flat. All because a group of dithering idiots who thought themselves close to science had decided to host a medical “conference” in order to show off their “expertise” and spoon feed new material to doctors who should already be up to speed on advancements. John certainly was, always borrowing the latest journals from the clinic to study. They should be getting _him_ to give a talk, since clearly John was a better doctor than any of the simpering, arrogant imbeciles that would be attending. 

When Sherlock had spouted off that very opinion during his eloquent rant against the entire institution, John had paused in his packing and looked at Sherlock with such pleased affection that Sherlock had quite forgotten what he was saying. His pacing had drifted to a halt as John abandoned the suitcase on their bed in favor of pulling Sherlock into a sweet, lingering kiss. 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he’d said into the space between their mouths. 

Thinking about it now marked yet another inflection point between anger and depression. 

Sherlock’s sprawl on the couch slumped and tightened until he was curled in a loose, pouting ball on his side. With malaised fingers, he reached out, straining, for his phone where it lay mostly on the coffee table, but was foiled by a few centimetres distance. He let his arm drop heavily over the edge of the couch with a grunt and glared in betrayal at his quarry. The one-sided staring contest went on longer than it probably should have before Sherlock squirmed forward, arm outstretched once more, until he could scrabble at the jutting corner of the phone. It teetered up, slipped further into his grasp, and — 

—tumbled to the floor, now further away than it had been to begin with as it bounced and clattered to a stop just under the coffee table. 

With a drawn-out groan of sorrow and frustration, Sherlock rolled onto his back, hands pressed to his face. 

Sod the phone. It’s not as though there were any new messages for him. The last had been from John over three hours ago, checking in and reminding him to eat if he hadn’t already (hadn’t but did). 

Despite insisting to himself that John was surely just busy, he could not entirely dismiss the possibility that John had grown irritable at Sherlock’s earlier pestering, was perhaps even having second thoughts about this whole…thing. Perhaps distance or some pretty face had reminded him of all that he could have instead. 

They’d only been romantically involved for a little over two months now, sexually so less than one. Enough time for novelty to wear off, and if there was nothing else underneath it… Anxiety sank its claws into familiar grooves in his mind. 

As wonderful — if unbelievable — as everything was, Sherlock continued to struggle with accepting and adapting to…it. To John’s…affections. His happiness and high-strung tendencies both were through the roof, which wrung dry his emotional energies, which made him more likely to be snappish, which he suppressed around John, which fed into the whole vicious cycle. The only thing that could calm him down seemed to be physical affection from John (the recent addition of sex had helped enormously). 

Problem was — though John made sure to be exceedingly generous in that regard — Sherlock was atrocious at asking for it or reaching out when he needed it. Even knowing that John would accept his attentions did nothing to abate the uncertainty and fear that knotted his gut whenever he made an attempt. Once it had been initiated, he turned greedy and demanding, but before that, the ball, as it were, was perpetually in John’s court. 

And now John wasn’t even _here_ , so Sherlock was left stuck in a miserable, lonely ball on the couch, antsy and bored but unable to do anything but give in to the whiplash current of his thoughts, which revolved almost entirely around John. What was he doing, thinking? Was he having fun at that dreadful conference or was he bored? Did he miss Sherlock like he’d said in his last message, or was he just going through the expected motions? It wouldn’t be unreasonable of him to not miss Sherlock terribly yet; only a couple days had passed after all. The vicious ache in Sherlock’s chest as he pined was the anomaly here. He cursed his sentimentality yet again for crippling him as it had. Going most of his life without must have left him utterly unprepared for the intensity of loving someone as fiercely as he did John. 

But he wouldn’t give it up now for a hundred locked room murders. 

—<>— 

Gentle warmth in his hair, hinting at restrained strength and callouses. His heart stuttered with contentment, the tension he’d retained even in sleep draining from him. He hummed and moved into the touch for more. 

A huff of soft laughter brushed his cheek before lips did the same. “Sherlock. Wake up, love.” 

Oh. _Oh_. John was home. 

His eyes snapped open, and he stared, shocked, at John’s face hovering not far from his own. “…John?” He cleared his throat to ease its hoarseness. 

John grinned, still stroking his hair. “Hey there. I decided to skip the last bit today and come home early.” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Sherlock seized hold of John’s shirt and _yanked_. 

“Oof!” 

Unprepared for such an assault, John stumbled and landed awkwardly on top of him, one leg still dangling over the edge. Sherlock wasted no time kissing him square on the mouth. His eyes felt too hot for dignity, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care one wit. 

John was smiling too wide for it to be a very productive kiss, but Sherlock soon moved on to pepper John’s face with smaller ones anyway. John’s giggle fed the warm bubble expanding in Sherlock’s chest. 

Still smiling as he did his best to return the kisses, John shifted and tugged so that he was properly on top, weight on his forearms. “If this is the welcome home I get after being away just a few days, maybe I should take trips more often.” 

Sherlock jerked back enough to glare at him, appalled. “You wouldn’t _dare_.” He was fully prepared to switch to the cold shoulder if it would discourage such a habit. 

John laughed, hand sinking into Sherlock’s curls, and shook his head. “Of course not. Definitely not worth it.” Eyes crinkled and bright, he cupped Sherlock’s face in his other hand. “I missed you far too much. Why do you think I cut it short? I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone for another night.” 

Oh. Well then. 

To hide the obvious heat in his cheeks, Sherlock leaned up for another kiss. “Good,” he murmured into it. “Baker street is dreadful without you. I was completely unproductive, utterly useless. For the sake of London’s crime rates, you really should stay home as often as possible. Or simply take me with you next time.” 

“You’d hate those conferences.” 

“I hated being left behind far more.” 

John pulled back to stare down at him in wonder, the grin returning full force. “God I love you.” 

Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t have to stay flustered and blushing for long, because John resumed their kissing with more passion than before, though no less sweetness. 

A few moments was all it took to have Sherlock melted against him, panting soft sounds into his mouth and arching up to get closer. He rocked his mostly hard cock against John’s hip, groaning to feel John’s own thick length twitch in response. 

“ _John_.” He tried not to whine as he spoke, but there was nothing for it. This was the only way so far he’d been able to ask for what he wanted. ‘Please fuck me’ always got stuck in his throat. 

The hand moving to grip Sherlock’s arse was a favourable answer indeed, almost as much as the way John’s mouth strangled around Sherlock’s name. 

“Bed?” 

Sherlock nodded feverishly and moved with John as he pulled them up. They stumbled through the kitchen as one unit, crashing into a chair, then the counter, then the wall of the hallway. John trapped him there to ravish his neck with biting kisses. Whining, Sherlock tipped his head to the side in welcome and pulled him even closer. John licked up his neck and bit his jaw, making Sherlock tremble in his arms. 

One of his whimpers turned into a startled yelp when John heaved him up by the thighs so they wrapped around his waist. Sherlock clung to him, taking his turn at John’s neck and shoulder as John carried ( _carried_ ) him to their bedroom. 

(It had not taken John long to learn how very much Sherlock liked being manhandled.) 

After tossing ( _tossing_ ) Sherlock onto the bed, John yanked off his jumper and began unbuttoning the shirt underneath, eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. “Strip.” 

His captain’s voice. A loud part of Sherlock always quailed in the best way to have it directed at him. Swallowing thickly around his racing pulse, Sherlock did as he was bid with shaking hands. The overwhelming newness of having someone look at him like that, having _John_ look at him like that, had yet to lessen since the first time. In fact, it might have gotten worse, now that he knew what was going to happen and what John’s hands felt like. Already, his ears rang and his cock leaked a wet spot in his pajama bottoms. 

By the time Sherlock had wriggled his dressing gown off and onto the floor, John was already down to his boxer briefs and crawling onto the bed between his legs. Hands going numb and useless at the sight of him, Sherlock could only stare, flushed from cheek to chest. 

A bit of a smirk softened the hard look in John’s eyes. “I said _strip_ , Sherlock.” 

He leaned forward to ghost his hands down the entire length of Sherlock’s torso, causing him to jerk and arch up off the bed. Then John’s hands reached the waistband of his pants and, without warning, yanked them down. Sherlock’s embarrassingly hard cock slapped against his stomach with a wet sound. He whimpered. 

John mumbled a reverent curse and made short work of getting the pajamas the rest of the way off. Eyes roving hungrily, he ran his hands up Sherlock’s legs. “God, look at you. So gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.” 

Too much. It was always too much, especially when John started saying things like that. To hide from it, he threw one arm over his eyes, pants turning shuddery. 

But John, as ever, wasn’t having it. His electric hands reached Sherlock’s shoulders, and then his weight settled over him. “Ah ah, none of that, now.” He tugged the shielding arm away. “No disappearing into your own head, remember? I want to see that lovely face of yours while I take you apart.” 

Though he nodded, letting his arm fall to the side, he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. 

“Sherlock.” John accompanied the chastisement with gripping Sherlock by the chin. 

He’d gained just enough confidence in this area to resist obeying. Half because he didn’t want to and half because he was curious as to what John would do. He pouted a little, frowning his recalcitrance, and shook his head just a hair. His hands trembled with nerves. 

John let the silence grow thick and uncomfortable, making Sherlock squirm, before finally sitting up. Sherlock pouted harder, missing John’s weight. 

In an instant, Sherlock found himself on his stomach, yelping in surprise. His eyes opened of their own accord, not that it mattered like this anyway. 

“All right then, Sherlock. You want to hide, I’ll let you hide.” The smooth, gentle lilt in John’s tone should have been reassuring, but was most certainly not. Hands pulled him sideways and into John’s lap. The position was such that John’s erection (now free of his pants) was trapped against his own, teasing but not offering any relief. “We’ll just have to find another way to keep you out of your head, won’t we?” Sherlock tensed with apprehension, not relaxing even when John smoothed a hand across his lower back and let it rest there. 

The first swat pulled another yelp from his throat, and the heat in his face doubled. This was something they hadn’t really done yet beyond John laying a probing smack across Sherlock’s arse a few times. Last time he’d done it, he’d been taking Sherlock from behind against a wall, and it had triggered Sherlock’s orgasm on the spot. 

Needless to say, John had noticed his reactions and had now apparently decided to put his knowledge to good use. 

Even so, Sherlock squirmed and struggled to get away, embarrassed and a little frightened of such a new experience. Namely, how it would affect him. What if he humiliated himself? 

But John simply got a tight hold on his waist and braced him more firmly against his stomach. “Ah ah, you wanted to be disobedient and hide from me. So you’re going to accept the consequences.” His other hand caressed the stinging cheek. 

Sherlock gripped the duvet and hunkered down further. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the plaintive whine out of his voice. “John…” He couldn’t be sure in that moment if he was begging for mercy or for more. His heart hammered in his throat, and a tightness coiled in his gut. 

The hand on his arse squeezed hard, then disappeared, and Sherlock sucked in a breath just as the second swat came down, resulting in a strangled squeak. Another smack, and another, each a little harder than the last. Sherlock’s breath became pants, and with every blow, they came out as a helpless “ah!” in time with the involuntary jerk of his hips. 

It shocked him, how much he enjoyed this, separate from any trappings of the situation (such as discipline). The sensation itself — the harsh sting and the way John ended each smack with a brief caress or squeeze — felt so _good_. And on top of that, John had been right. It kept him firmly in the moment, in his body, and quieted the swarming noise in his head nearly as well as being fucked by John’s cock. But still, it shocked him, because he’d never thought himself a masochist. In fact, he rather disliked experiencing pain anywhere else. 

Yet here he was, his low cries halfway to moans and his cock dripping into John’s lap, onto John’s cock. He had to turn his head to the side to gasp for air, no longer cognizant enough to care about embarrassment. 

John wasn’t exactly unaffected, himself. Every few smacks, he’d press Sherlock further into his lap and grind up against him, cursing under his breath. And he was very effusive with his praise, telling Sherlock how beautiful he looked, how lovely his arse was, all red with his handprints. How good he was being. 

Without his usual defenses, he had no choice but to listen and take in the praise. He whimpered, trembling and overwhelmed by the warmth filling his chest. He wanted more, wanted to be good for John, and he arched his back a little more so he could offer himself better to John’s hands. 

“That’s it, Sherlock. So, so good for me. This is exactly what you needed, isn’t it, sweetheart?” The next his was the hardest yet, and Sherlock gasped and moaned John’s name. “Fuck you’re gorgeous. And the sounds you make.” Another hard hit, another cry, with John thrusting up against him. “I wonder if I could make you come like this. Just from spanking your perfect arse. I bet I could.” 

More pre-cum dribbled down Sherlock’s cock as he whined, as much from John’s words as his ministrations. He had no doubt John could do exactly as he claimed, and the thought of it made him shake. 

John’s hand switched to massaging each cheek in turn, giving him a break yet aggravating the hot, pulsing sting that had become a constant. “Not this time, though. I don’t think I have the patience to hold off from fucking you long enough for that. God, your arse is going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock like this.” 

Sherlock choked on a sob, shuddering. The reminder of what this was leading to made him sharply aware of how empty he was, how much his cock ached. He didn’t want John to stop spanking him, but he also desperately wanted his cock inside him as soon as possible. 

He whimpered and spread his legs wider. “John… Please, John…” The words for what he wanted still wouldn’t come, even with his brain reduced to warm mush. 

“What is it, love? You want that, hm? Want me to fuck you?” 

Squirming and pushing back against John’s hand, Sherlock nodded. “Please… Need you…” 

John’s swallow was audible, and his grip tightened for a moment. “Yeah? Need my cock, do you?” 

Sherlock nodded more frantically. 

With a thoughtful hum, John raked his blunt nails across one cheek, making Sherlock shiver. “But I’m not sure you deserve it just yet. You’ve been enjoying this too much for it to be a proper punishment.” 

“ _John…_ ” His tone was frustrated now. He looked back at John as well as he could to glare at him. 

A firm smack had him yelping, the ire falling from his face. “None of that, now. Don’t worry, I’m going to give you what you need. But first you have to keep being good for me. Can you do that, love?” 

Now that the haze from earlier had somewhat receded, the endearment had him flushing just as it usually did, his chest going warm. He bit his lip and nodded, the desire to be good settling back over him. 

The hand on his lower back stroked up his spine and into his hair. “Good boy.” Half embarrassed, half pleased, Sherlock nudged against his hand. “I want to know how much you can take. So I’m not going to let up this time, and you are to let me know when I’ve hit too hard for it to feel good. And then I’ll fuck you until you can’t move. How does that sound?” 

A moan and roll of his hips was the only answer Sherlock could manage. The way John said filthy things in such a gentle, coaxing tone never failed to shoot lightning down Sherlock’s spine. He’d already reached the state of arousal denoted by incoherency, and John hadn’t laid a finger on his cock. 

John’s hand returned to his lower back, holding him firm. “Mmm, I love how eager you always are for it.” His other hand came down, almost as hard as when he’d stopped earlier, and Sherlock sighed around his moan. “My brilliant, beautiful cockslut.” 

Sherlock quaked with the overwhelming mix of pleased, aroused, and dirty John’s words made him feel. John said it like an endearment, which took any humiliating sting out of it. The buzz in his chest intensified, and with some effort, he found the courage (and mental capacity) to speak even as John built up a steady, hard rhythm, panting and nodding. “Yours, John. Ah! Only, nngh, for you.” 

The blows paused for a brief moment, and when they continued, John’s breathing was more labored than before. “Fuck yes you’re mine. I’m the only one who’s ever touched you, the only one who ever will. No other cock will ever do for you, because I intend to fucking _ruin_ you.” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than his blows ramped up in force and speed, alternating sides at random. The sharp sounds rang through the air, creating a lewd harmony with his cries. If it hadn’t been for John holding him down, he likely would have been jolted out of his lap from the force of the blows. 

The continuous assault had Sherlock trembling with So Much, until he had to release it in a long, high wail. He couldn’t even find the breath or coherency to beg, not that he even knew what he’d be begging for. All he could think of was John’s hands and the way John’s hips would slap against him in much the same way when he fucked him and John’s cock, his _cock_. He needed it in him, or he’d surely die. 

Distantly, he was aware that John was putting most of his strength into each smack, with how he used his whole body in the motion. And yes, it hurt now, really hurt, but it was still the good kind, still made his cock twitch and ache. 

One final blow that shook Sherlock’s frame, and the hand stayed, rubbing the stinging ache while John caught his breath. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock. If I went any harder, I’d break skin. Fuck. You really loved that didn’t you?” 

Sherlock, trembling and dazed, just managed to move his head in a facsimile of a nod. 

“ _Fuck_ , that is so hot. And you were absolutely perfect for me, love.” 

John dragged a limp and smiling Sherlock off his lap and arranged him to his liking, still face down. The press of the duvet against his cock lasted only a brief, tortuous moment before John pulled his hips up so that just his lower half was propped up on his spread knees, arse in the air. The vulnerable, wanton position had Sherlock flushing, but he made no effort to move. This was what John wanted, and he wanted John to keep calling him good and perfect. Wanted to please him. 

“There, stay just like that. Such a good, beautiful boy for me.” Running his hands over Sherlock’s hips, John leaned down to kiss each burning cheek, followed by a light nip. “God, I wish I had my phone handy so I could take a picture. I’ve never seen anything more stunning than how you look right now. And you’ll look even better on my cock.” 

Sherlock whined, squirming in John’s grip. As much as he enjoyed the praise, John was taking entirely too long to get to the fucking he’d been promised. 

John’s mouth pulled away, and a moment later, it was replaced by his cock rubbing against him. Hands squeezed and moulded his buttocks around it so that it snugged up against his hole. Sherlock groaned and pushed back in a rolling motion, breathing hard. The tingling heat made every touch down there light up his spine. Cursing, John thrust against him a couple times before pausing. The snick of a cap being opened (John must have grabbed the lube at some point), and a moment later, John withdrew only to rub slick fingers against his entrance. 

Impatient and needy, Sherlock pushed back again, his hole spasming in anticipation. John tsked and firmed his grip on Sherlock’s hip to still him. But he didn’t make Sherlock wait long before pushing in with one finger. It met no resistance, sliding all the way in in one go as John sucked in a surprised breath. 

Sherlock’s groan was punched from his chest. Finally, he had something in him. But it wasn’t nearly enough. “John, more, please…” 

The control from earlier had all but disappeared from John’s voice, and it came out uneven and breathy. “Such a greedy thing.” 

But he complied and pushed in two fingers instead. Though it burned a little and required a bit more pressure, Sherlock took them just as easily. He squeezed down on them, making a small, happy noise. 

“ _Fuck_ … You take me so well, sweetheart.” He began thrusting his fingers, spreading them as much as he could to stretch him. “Do you want another one?” 

Sherlock pouted even as he strained against John’s hold to meet his thrusts. “Please, John, I’m ready… Want _you…_.” 

A smack to his outer thigh this time, which was less pleasant. “No, Sherlock. You need to be stretched. I’m too big for you to safely take after only two fingers, and you know it. Be patient, or I might just fuck your mouth instead and all you’ll get is my hand.” 

Such a threat had Sherlock going still and quiet in an instant. As much as he loved having John’s cock in his mouth, it wasn’t what he needed — craved — just then. And John didn’t make idle threats. 

His quick compliance earned him that third finger, and he reveled in the burn of it, how it complemented the quiet burn in his arsecheeks. Thankfully, John didn’t seem to have very much more patience than Sherlock, because he focused solely on getting him stretched enough for his cock, not even bothering to go for his prostate. Which suited Sherlock just fine. He might have spilled if he had. 

A seeming eternity later, John withdrew his fingers and laid a parting smack on his arse. The sound of the lube being used again, this time on John’s cock. Breath speeding up, Sherlock wriggled in place, whispering “yes” over and over. 

The tip pressed against his hole, which made an effort to suck him in. “God, you’re so hungry for it, aren’t you?” Sherlock nodded, sobbing with need as John rubbed against him. “Shhh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m going to take such good care of you.” 

John gave him another swat, making him jerk and moan, and before the sting could start to fade, he gripped Sherlock by the hips and pulled him back onto his cock in one unrelenting slide. 

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open as he sucked in air, his hands twisting in fabric, and when John’s hips shoved against him, as far as he could go, Sherlock let out a long, bone-deep groan of utter satisfaction. John’s own groan echoed him, and he ground against Sherlock’s sore backside as though he couldn’t help it. 

“Fuck you feel so good. Better than…ungh, anything. _God_.” 

His hands grabbed and spread Sherlock’s cheeks wide as he gave a shallow thrust, and Sherlock tilted his hips up even further to give him a better view. There was no room left in his head for things like shame. 

“ _Jooohn_ _._ ” Fire was already building and tightening in his gut. 

“There you go, sweetheart.” He pulled out to the tip and thrust firmly back in, drawing a broken sound from Sherlock’s throat as he angled just right to nail his prostate. “That’s much better isn’t it? Finally getting my thick cock in you, filling you up just right.” Nodding mindlessly, Sherlock turned his cheek against the duvet and rocked his hips to meet the next thrusts. “You earned it, love. Being so, so good for me.” 

Just before one thrust, he gave Sherlock another hard swat, making him cry out. A few moments later, Sherlock was writhing and shaking against the bed, little ‘unh’s leaving him with every firm roll of John’s hips. The hot feeling in his gut built and built with such looming intensity, he was tempted to cringe away. 

“J-John… Haaahhh, gonna…” He couldn’t find the rest of the words, but thankfully John got his meaning anyway. 

“Oh fuck, you’re already gonna cum aren’t you? Just from my cock.” His thrusts turned rougher, and Sherlock’s cries grew louder. “Fuck yes, come on, Sherlock, cum for me.” 

The command was all it took, because what else was Sherlock to do but obey? With a loud wail, he clamped down on John’s cock hard enough to limit his movement, and shot his cum all over the bed and his own stomach. Through the pulsing waves of euphoria, he was distantly aware of John murmuring to him and massaging his backside while he did his best to fuck him through it. 

It seemed to go on for ages, fading slowly, until he was left a trembling, wrung out mess of nerve endings. If it wasn’t for John holding his hips up, he would have collapsed completely. John gave him only brief respite, though, before starting up his thrusts again, slow and gentle. They made Sherlock’s aftershocks more intense, and he clenched around John to chase them, the only muscle movement he had the strength for. 

John’s weight settled on top of him, his hands running up and down Sherlock’s sides. It had Sherlock lying flat on the wet spot he’d made, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. John rested his face against the base of Sherlock’s neck, breathing hard. 

“That was beautiful, Sherlock.” He continued rolling his hips, and the new position had his cock brushing against Sherlock’s oversensitive prostate, making him flinch and whimper. “Shhh, just relax. I’d like to try making you cum again. Would that be all right?” 

Part of him shrank at the idea. The effects of his last orgasm still had him limp and frayed at the edges. But…he also trusted John to take care of him, to not hurt him. Trusted his greater experience. 

Mouth trembling with nerves, he nodded. “Yes…” 

John’s smile was obvious when he kissed Sherlock’s spine. “You are a wonder.” 

He slid his hands along Sherlock’s arms until he could twine their fingers together, pressing their hands into the mattress. Gentle restraints. His thrusts took on more purpose, but remained much the same: slow, easy undulations. One knee pressed against the back of Sherlock’s, bending it further up against his side for better access. He peppered all the skin he could reach with affectionate kisses. 

Little shocks ran up Sherlock’s spine with each movement, toeing the line between pain and pleasure. But it was more this sudden change of pace that had him shaking and whimpering. This wasn’t just John fucking him, but _loving_ him with his whole body. He couldn’t hide or look away. Couldn’t come up with any way to doubt John’s affections. He felt…safe. Truly safe. It still overwhelmed him every time John did something to engender that feeling, making him want to flee and yet never leave in equal measure. 

Time blurred to a haze within their quiet bubble. At some point, Sherlock’s arousal flared to full life once more, which had him matching John’s movements as much as possible. His hard cock received some welcome friction from being trapped against the duvet. 

John hummed and pressed a wet kiss to a vertebra. “There you are. I knew you could do it. Such a good boy.” 

Sherlock’s quiet whine turned mournful when John pulled out, leaving him clenching around an awful nothing. But before he could remember the words to protest, John rolled him over, hooked his arms under Sherlock’s knees, and pushed back in. Sherlock didn’t even try to muffle his guttural moan of relief, the thrill of being filled again almost as good as the first time. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ll always take care of you. You know that, don’t you?” 

Nodding, Sherlock gazed up at him through eyes blurred from shed tears that he only noticed now as they cooled in the open air. He hadn’t been able to look at John properly since the start of all this, and now he couldn’t remember why he’d refused in the first place. John was so handsome. Beautiful. His compact, muscled body glistened with sweat, and the way he smiled down at Sherlock transformed his face into something radiant. 

“Hi there.” Grinning, John ground his hips forward. 

And it was such a casual thing to say, something John had said plenty of times in their day-to-day lives. It breathed sharpness into this moment, reminding him with crystal clarity that yes, this really was John, _his_ John. Being with him like this. Looking at him like that. Loving him. It was still so hard to believe. 

Fresh tears followed the tracks of the old, and he bit his lip in an effort to keep the sob in his chest off of his face. “Hello,” he said, choking on it. Trying and failing to pull his mouth into a smile that should match the joy buzzing under his skin. 

Thankfully, John just looked at him with tender understanding and smoothed a gentling hand down his thigh. He adjusted his grip so that he held Sherlock’s hips, while Sherlock’s spread legs lay draped against John’s kneeling thighs. That grip tightened, the only warning Sherlock got before a hard, accurate thrust had his eyes rolling back, a cry on his lips. 

Brilliant, amazing John continued in this vein, giving him a much-needed distraction from his overwhelming emotions. Taking care of him, just as he promised. 

Holding John’s gaze while they both panted or moaned with pleasure was just this side of too much. He had to keep looking away after only a glance, gazing instead at the way John’s abdominal muscles bunched and released with steady power as he moved. At his heaving chest, which Sherlock would very much like to lick. At the hands gripping his hips hard enough that they might just leave bruises. He hoped they did. 

With graceful, controlled movements, John pulled him a little closer and, for just a handful of thrusts, pounded fast (but not frantic) right against his prostate before slowing to a luxurious roll of his hips that bounced him in his lap. 

Sherlock keened and shook through the onslaught, and continued to do so to a lesser extent when John slowed. The brief harshness had made him even more sensitive. His cock leaked another short stream of pre-cum into the growing puddle on his stomach. Having a taste of a pace that could easily make him cum made the current one feel close to torture. His desperation made him even more whiny and petulant. 

“John! Please, please…” 

A pleased smirk hid at the corner of John’s mouth. “What is it, love? Do you need something?” He made his next thrust more firm, then let up again. 

With something like a growl, Sherlock glared at him and purposefully squeezed his cock, _hard_. 

John’s eyes fluttered, his breathing and thrusts losing their rhythm as he groaned. But instead of being provoked, John just chuckled. “Are you trying to say you want more, hm? Well you’re going to have to be more polite than that to get it. And specific. Using your words.” He raised his brows expectantly, eyes bright with mirth. 

The flush on Sherlock’s face deepened. That was something he hadn’t yet been able to do. Ask for what he wanted, explicitly. Not like this, anyway. It felt as though if he did, he’d be cracking his own chest open, revealing all the softest parts of himself. Making them vulnerable to hurt. 

But John wouldn’t hurt him. He knew that. John wouldn’t mock or reject him. He _wouldn’t_. Not on purpose...

As if reading his mind, John rubbed his thumbs against him. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, love. Like I’ve said, I’m not going to judge you. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll gladly give you whatever you want. Well, if it’s in my power to give, anyway.” He grinned, cheeky, trying to ease Sherlock’s nerves. 

It worked, a little, and Sherlock flashed a small smile. 

The words were _right there_ _._ He believed John. He trusted John. John, who _did_ always take care of him. Had from the very beginning. 

His mouth opened, closed. 

He felt as though he stood before a precipice, one that stretched far beyond just this small moment. This was the last step for him to take, that would have him giving himself wholly over to John. It meant loosing his tight grip on his insecurities and his crippling fear that this couldn’t last, that John didn’t entirely mean the things he said. Or at least, pointing himself down the path to that. And he had to do it. Had to. He really would lose John eventually if he didn’t. 

Heart pounding in his ears, Sherlock rallied his courage (aided, he was sure, by all the feel-good hormones still coursing through his system), and raised his eyes to look into John’s. John was simply gazing at him, heavy-lidded and patient, still rocking his hips at a lazy pace, and now he smiled with reassurance. 

This time, when Sherlock opened his mouth, the words were waiting for him, though he still stumbled and stammered with nerves. “Please, John. Please f-fuck me harder. I…I want to cum on your cock again.” He even made an attempt at looking up from under his lashes. Let no one say that Sherlock ever did anything halfway. 

For an instant, everything was still, as John stared at him with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Then he lurched forward with a groan, shoving Sherlock’s legs up as far as they could go so he could lean in to kiss him, deep and filthy. Moaning in return, Sherlock wrapped his arms over John’s shoulders, hands aching with relief to finally be able to touch. 

John broke the kiss but stayed close as he braced himself. And gave Sherlock exactly what he’d asked for. 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” he said between thrusts that rocked the bed and had Sherlock crying out with each one. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard said.” 

If he hadn’t been busy trying to hang onto his sanity, Sherlock might have rolled his eyes at what had to be an exaggeration. What he’d said was fairly run-of-the-mill from what he understood. But it had at least pleased John, and that was enough for him. 

“Have I told you how much I love your voice? God, sometimes just listening to you talk makes me chub up, even when it’s about one of your experiments. And then to hear you make these delicious sounds,” he thrust especially hard, and Sherlock keened right on cue, “all because of me… I think I could cum just from listening to you like this.” 

A wave of cold-prickle heat washed over Sherlock, making him shudder and cling to John even tighter. Closer, he needed John closer, further inside him. It felt so, so near to enough. 

Frantic, he tugged at John’s hair, scratched at his back. “More, John… Nnnngh! Please please _more_ …” 

With a groan, John guided his legs down to wrap around his waist instead, which Sherlock complied with eagerly. He used the new leverage to tug John closer, not that John needed the urging. He gripped Sherlock’s hip with one hand and his shoulder from underneath with the other. The new position allowed him to pull Sherlock down onto his cock in time with his thrusts. 

Biting his lip, Sherlock arched up into him and did his best to move with John’s guidance. And when John pressed their mouths together, he licked against John’s tongue. This, this was what he’d been craving. John _everywhere_. Nothing else had ever felt so exquisite, setting off a constant stream of a thousand sparks in his brain. Not the drugs, not solving a near-impossible murder. Nothing. 

So lost in the overload of sensation, he barely registered his building orgasm until it was nearly upon him. Startled, his vocalizations turned more desperate and rose in pitch, his thighs shaking. He had to pull his head away to let it fall back as he sucked in gulps of air. Instead of arching against John, he writhed, at least as much as he could without loosening his grips. 

“Are you close, sweetheart? Gonna cum again for me? God I’m close, too. You’re so…” Apparently John couldn’t find the right words, because he set to sucking the sweat from Sherlock’s collarbones instead of saying what Sherlock was. Or maybe his actions were a sort of answer. 

John slid his hand from Sherlock’s hip to beneath his lower back, pulling him tighter against him with a deliciously strong forearm. Trapping Sherlock’s weeping cock between them. 

Eyes widening, Sherlock dug his fingers into John’s back. “Oh oh oh… John _John…_ ” He stuck on John’s name, hoarsely repeating it like a mantra or a prayer as his body drew taut as a bowstring about to be loosed. 

John cursed and sped his thrusts, which lost their steady rhythm but none of their force. “Oh fuck, Sherlock…” Groaning, he bit into the meat of Sherlock’s shoulder, his cock beginning to pulse, and — 

The string snapped, released, and Sherlock _screamed_. 

—<>— 

As Sherlock slowly remembered how thinking worked, he stared at the ceiling through slitted eyes. Which he realized he’d been doing for quite a while, without really seeing it. He’d been too lost swimming in the warm, buzzing haze, which had only receded a little. 

Blinking sluggishly, he looked to his side and found John smiling at him. Ah, that was John’s hand on his stomach, rubbing gentle circles. It felt nice. 

“Hi there. Welcome back.” 

A delayed hum was all he got. 

John’s smile widened to a grin. “I think the whole street heard that. My ears are still ringing a bit.” 

Sherlock looked away, blushing with embarrassment. 

John pulled him onto his side and hugged him close, kissing his cheek and hair. “Aww, love, I’m just teasing. That was bloody brilliant. Same as you always are.” 

Blushing for another reason now, Sherlock struggled to make his body obey him so he could snuggle closer. His arm lifted a little before going limp again. He huffed a frustrated “mmph.” 

“Having trouble there?” 

The smugness coming off of John was palpable. This time Sherlock was quite able to roll his eyes, though he supposed John had a right to it. Just a little. He smiled against John’s chest. 

Ever helpful, John lifted Sherlock’s arm to wrap around his torso like he’d wanted and shifted a bit so that his bicep made a better pillow. Sherlock hummed a contented sigh when John hugged him snug to his chest. Perfect. 

Beyond the afterglow, Sherlock felt…lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A bone-deep peace settled over him like a childhood blanket. The negative voices in his head had gone quiet, and though they probably weren’t gone for good, he somehow knew that it would be easier now. 

After breathing deep of John’s scent, he let it out around a mumbled, “Love you.” 

They’d exchanged those words before, even if it had taken several weeks before Sherlock could say it back. But this was the first time he’d said it unprompted. 

A sharp inhale from John, and his arms squeezed Sherlock tighter for a moment as he laid a trail of kisses across his temple. The joyful grin was obvious in John’s voice as he said, “And I love you. So, so much,” and buried his face in Sherlock’s hair. 

That night Sherlock dreamed of Sussex and bees and John. 


End file.
